


Killing Erica

by tangledinink



Category: Homestuck
Genre: bad body image, eridan gives himself a haircut, ftm eridan, self hate, short haired eridan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangledinink/pseuds/tangledinink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan gives himself a hair-cut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Erica

Today, he had lost his job. He had been working at a hotel; in guest services, meeting people at the door and showing them to their rooms. The management had told him something about cutting people due to budgets, but he sort of suspected it had something to do with his looks. Him not being pretty enough to work in guest services. Not attractive enough to be the business’ front.

That was what he always thought, but it was always true, he was sure. All his life, he had hated how he looked.

He sighed a little, quietly examining himself in the mirror as he had done before- turning his face from left to right, poking at his chin and furrowing his brows. He pulled his lips back, looking over his whitened teeth, and picked at his clear olive skin. He tugged at the corners of his eyes, hating the slight, natural bags under them, wishing they were a prettier, brighter color, hating how thin they were, how dark, how squinty. And the more that he looked at himself, the more the seed of doubt in his stomach began to blossom, pressing up against the sides of his chest, making him feel tight and shivery- something he wasn’t unfamiliar with. All the other more respectable, more stable things that he could have been wandered through his mind- an environmentalist, a professor, a historian, a businessman like his dad had been. Running his fingers through his long, curly black hair, he sighed a little, thinking of when he used to be in the ROTC in high school, how his dad had always said he wanted to have a son in the army... Why couldn’t he be that son? What was stopping him from being the son his father had always wanted?

He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know, however. It was Erica- Erica was in the way. She was the one keeping him from being anything he wanted to be, from being beautiful, from being successful. From liking himself. The more his mind wandered to the thought of her, and the more he rolled the ugly name across his lips, the sourer he became, his teeth digging into the insides of his lips with unadulterated disgust. His lips pursed, his gaze idly wandered towards the scissors sitting inside the open cabinet over the toilet.   
Before his mind had even begun to process the possibility of the choice he was presenting to himself, he had already gotten the scissors in his hand without even realizing it. Quietly, he examined his dark hair, falling in waves around his face, purple-stained covering up his forehead and part of his eyes when it wasn’t styled. He couldn’t quite get up the nerve to start cutting yet, but... He could just shorten it a little, right? Or just go for clipped sides and back, short hair, like an actual army guy would have… No, like an actual guy would have. Not like anything Erica would ever wear, not anything anyone ever would approve on Erica. He didn’t want to be like Erica. He wanted to distance himself from her as much as possible. 

This thought helps him find the burst of courage he was searching for before, and he, banishing the previous hesitation from his movements, he begins to carefully snip at his hair. He tries to start off slow, mostly just trying to shorten the hair on the sides, leaving his bangs mostly untouched. He actually wasn't at all bad at this... he had plenty of practice cutting hair and styling it. He was careful in his work, not snipping too short, but enough that it would be noticeable. It would definitely be noticeable. He eventually ended up trimming his bangs a little, too, letting them fall to the sides of his face, framing his forehead. He paused slightly, examining himself in the mirror, before he cut them a little more. And then a little more. Before he even knew it, he had broken out the electric razor, plugging it in and flipping the switch on, relishing the soft ‘whrrrr’ that sounded as it vibrated in his hand, nuzzling at his palm. He didn't cut it too short, not buzzcut short, but he left it around an inch or so long, with a short, choppy look around the sides. In the front and top, it was longer, wavy and hanging down into his forehead slightly. Maybe it later, he thought, that could be nice… The more he examined himself, the more he liked it. His hair- short. Almost like an army guy’s. He puffed his chest out slightly, raising his chin and looking himself over, running his long fingers across his smooth face, as if looking for something. Hair scattered the floor and his feet, tickling at his toes and staining the floor black, like the ocean, but he couldn’t bring himself to care right now. He’d clean it up later- for now, he liked it there. It was like the blood of his enemy staining his sword- the spoils of his victory, laid out at his feet. It seemed fitting somehow.   
For a moment, he found he actually liked how he looked. Maybe not completely- there were still so many things he’d want to change, to add, to warp. Make himself taller, maybe, a more defined chin, sideburns, a chiseled six-pack and pecs, god that would be so nice…

But his hair. It made a difference. Without it hanging around his face is wispy little curls and ringlets, he seemed older, maybe. Definitely more like a man- his cheekbones stood out more, and his chin didn’t seem so soft. He looked different. And he loved it so much. Who knew that just a haircut could make him feel so much freer, so more like himself, so much more in his own skin and not trapped somewhere where he didn’t belong?

In the next moment, the illusion was shattered, however, when his mother knocked on the bathroom door, calling for him. 

“Erica?” she called. “Come on, it’s late. What are you doing in there? You have to go job hunting tomorrow- and no one will want to hire a young lady who looks tired and disheveled.”


End file.
